RVB Pages
by Sweetloot
Summary: Just a bunch of basically unrelated drabble things (usually less than 1000 words) that I write sometimes. Each chapter is its own "fic" with varying characters and pairings and the main character or pairings will usually show up in the chapter titles. There isn't a comprehensive summary I can give since each is its own work, but do give it a read.
1. Captains and Lieutenants

Summary: (A RVB Season 12 drabble because we got new characters and I'm really excited.)

(Edited after S12:EP12 to include small changes).

(Originally written April 30th 2014)

* * *

All the captains train up their lieutenants, reluctantly, and, eventually, become sort of friends (because what else is there to do besides become friends when Kimball had a strict "no friendly fire" policy.) They drink, chat, and generally get along pretty well.

Cabooses's lieutenant is a serious, hardcore man, but on the inside is a total softie that is always making sure his captain is okay. Caboose really likes him because "he's like a snarly puppy."

Jensen doesn't let Simmons' stuttering stop her and sometimes has entire conversations with him stumbling out replies every five minutes or so. It becomes good practice for when he has to talk to the rest of his squad.

Grif's lieutenant, Bitters, is sarcastic and deadpan, but sucks at poker 'cause he can never keep a straight face, so he looses all of his Twinkies to Grif and they bond over their love of snack cakes.

Palomo tries to keep things light and cheery because he can see that Tucker is really stressed and knows some stories about some of the awful things that have happened to him, so he tries to smile even though it can't be seen through his visor but thinks that it's the thought that counts anyway. He isn't a lieutenant, but he's all his captain has left, so whenever his captain says, "Shut up, Palomo," the private likes to think that it's with less bite than normal.

They work really hard and soon become what they were always meant to be: competent soldiers, but throughout that time they become something they weren't expecting to become: family. They share stories, and childhood memories, nightmares and dreams. They plan together, train together, and work their asses off together and eventually wake up one morning and it's time, time to storm the fed base and rescue their captain's friends. Friends that have slowly wormed their way into the lieutenants' hearts without them even noticing.

When the raid is over, everyone is rescued.

And, in the end, the lieutenants, loyal to a fault, die for their captains.


	2. Careful Wishes (Sister)

Summary: Sister's thoughts on Grif's promotion.

(Originally written April 30th 2014)

* * *

Of course she had heard the good news, her big bro had become a captain! Woohoo! She was so proud of him, she knew he would become a big-shot one day. (_'Take that, Dad!'_) She couldn't wait to tell her new friends all about all the cool stuff he got to do. They had all been army guys before and would probably love to reminisce about it. She thinks about telling South. She and the other girl got along pretty well even though the older girl was a bit high strung (_It's just racing, South. Competitive much?'_). Or maybe North would like to hear about him. That guy was the fatherly type after all, he'd probably enjoy a story about her big bro.

North was where he always was, sitting on the highest cliff, looking down past the clouds. Sister plopped down heavily beside him, humming a tune she couldn't quite remember the name of. Maybe Grif has sung it to her...

"Hey, North!" North didn't even jump, used to her over exuberance and tendency to talk louder than was normally socially acceptable.

"Hey, Kai. What's up?" North's smile always looked tired but Sister thought it was because he wasn't used to having to the weight of the world not dragging him down anymore. His eyes were always kind though and that was Sister's favorite part about him.

Sister positively beamed at him. "Grif made captain! Can you believe it! I wonder if they would have made me his co-captain? That would have been so great! Don't you think?"

North just nodded kindly at her. "Yeah, sounds like it would have been nice."

Sister leans back on her hands, feet dangling over the cliff. She feels like she could kick a cloud if she wanted to. The silence only lasts a second before she's sighing heavily and lays back all the way, her hands running through the tall grasses that cover the area. "Man, Grif gets to have all the fun. First he joins the army without me, and now he's gone off and gotten his own squad!"

North just looks over at her dramatically splayed out in the grass and snorts. "Don't pretend you're actually mad. Just a second ago you were saying how happy you were for him."

It's quiet for longer than North is used to when talking with Sister. North's just about to ask her what's wrong when she responds, sighing out her words like a puff of air. "Yeah, well, I can be happy for him and still miss his stupid face...I wish he was here."

North turns to face her at that, already reaching out a hand to comfort the younger girl. What he has to say is kind of harsh, but it's what she needs to hear. "Hey, Kai." He waits until she's sat up and turned her head to him before continuing. "I know you miss him but...just be careful what you wish for, okay? You don't want him here just yet." His eyes glance over as he says this. Sister thinks she sees South disappear down the hill before North is gesturing down below the cliff. "I think the clouds are clearing up."

Sister lays down on her stomach, her head peaking over the edge of the cliff as the last wisp of clouds filter by. She can see the rebel base, her brother's gold (_'It's fucking orange!'_) armor glittering in the morning sun. She thinks they're going to try infiltrating the mess hall again. They make it past the dining area before an enraged cook chases them out with a whisk when she catches them trying to steal the pancakes she had been making for breakfast. Damn, Sister was sure they would have gotten them that time. By the time they've out run the cook she can tell her brother is laughing from where he and the rest of his squad have collapsed on the ground, his armored chest heaving as he tries to pull himself together and seem sort-of professional in front of his squad. Grif fails to hold in his laughter, however, when Lieutenant Bitters gets smacked in the face with a pancake one of the other soldiers managed to smuggle out and starts chasing the private around, shouting curses into the heavens. She can image Grif is about to start crying soon from all of the belly-laughing he's doing down there.

Sister smiles big and bright at the scene unfolding below her. Yeah, she thinks, she'll be more careful what she wishes for.

As the clouds cover the scene again she looks up towards the sky. Even though the sun is out they are so high up she can still see the stars twinkling down at her. One shoots by so fast she almost misses it but catches it just as it blinks out of the sky.

_'I wish, I wish, with all my heart,_

_don't let this stupid fucking war_

_tear my brother the fuck apart.'_


	3. Locus got him (Tucker)

Summary: It was easy to blame Locus, so _goddamn easy_.

(Originally written May 6th 2014)

* * *

It was easy to blame Locus, so _goddamn easy_. Felix didn't even question it, just accepted that his long time enemy had added two more bodies to the ever growing pile left it this stupid fucking war's wake. He was supposed to be their captain, for shit's sake, and what did he do? Not what he was supposed to, that's for fucking sure.

_'It's because I don't trust you.'_

Ha, that's a fucking laugh. He had said that to Palomo. _Trust?_ They had trusted him, his squad had trusted him, and what happened? He jumped at the first sound of Wash's name, at the slightest sliver of hope that maybe,_ just maybe_ he could find him, and he couldn't let that opportunity pass. And he threw his squad under the bus to do it.

_'Honestly, if you were out in the field you would probably get us all killed.'_

They would have been better off having Palomo as their captain, at least the lieutenant could follow orders.

_'Cunningham, everything okay? Jason?'_

He can still hear the static-y voice of...had that been Rogers? Or was that Palomo? God, he felt like such a dick. He was starting to forget what Rogers sounded like. It wasn't enough that he got the kid killed, but he couldn't even do the damn decent thing and at least fucking remember who had been calling out to...to Jason. He couldn't very well ask Palomo if it was his voice he had overheard, so Tucker held on to the (likely wrong) belief that he had heard Rogers, perhaps heard some of his last words.

Does holding onto their memories lighten the load of bodies he's going to end up carrying after this war is done?

_'Jason?'_

No, no it doesn't.


	4. Soliloquy (Caboose)

Summary:

The act of talking to oneself

or

the one where Caboose texts Church a lot.

(Originally written May 30th 2014)

* * *

Everyone thinks that Caboose is just texting to empty air, that the messages aren't actually going to anyone, but Wash indulges his habit, nodding and saying _'Sure, Caboose'_ when Caboose asks if he thinks Church would like a picture of Freckles or would like to know what he had for breakfast.

Tucker would just scoff at first, saying things like, _'He won't answer, idiot. He's not really there!'_ And Caboose would shake his head saying, _'Nuh, uh. His name is there and everything!'_

But Tucker would keep saying it and one day when Caboose was talking everyone's ear off, Tucker made the mistake of saying, "Sure, Caboose, you're texting Church. And you know why he doesn't text back? Because he's sick of your fucking mouth!" That was the day Wash coined the phrase "Caboose is having one of his...off days." It was also the start of Tucker doing leg day, twice a day, for a week.

Tucker had to apologize (_'And sound like you mean it, Tucker!'_), so Tucker had slid down the wall that Caboose was huddled in the corner of, sighing and thunking the back of his helmet a few times in the hopes that an apology would magically fall out of it. When it didn't, he turned his head towards Caboose, saying with as much sincerity he could muster, "Look, I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean what I said. I'm sure Church is just busy."

When Caboose didn't respond, Tucker sighed again, turning his body to face the private. "Want to take a selfie to send to Church?"

And that's how Tucker ended up with bows in his hair after being dragged to go see Donut so they would look "really extra super nice" for their picture to Church.

What they didn't know was that Church got every single one of Caboose's texts, he just couldn't respond to them. When Carolina had asked what he was laughing at, Church quickly denied laughing, saying that the ex-freelancer was hearing things, before saving the picture to a file labeled "Caboose".


	5. Burn You (Lolix)

Summary: _Hate _(Felix/Locus). (Originally written June 10th 2014).

* * *

Their relationship is unhealthy.

It's an I-hate-you-but-I-don't-want-anyone-else-to-have-you kind of mentality.

It's blood-curdling _hate_ for one another that results in violent I'm-going-to-make-you-scream-and-bleed-and-scream-again kind of fucking.

Everything is biting, scratching, clawing, choking, too-hot-can't-stop-why-can't-I-fuck-you-_gone_.

It's the up close you-can-never-be-rid-of-me kind of fucking that's so _raw_ that it's addicting.

They're going to kill each other, but until then they'll burn each other up.


	6. Bees? (Wash & Tucker & Caboose)

Summary: Wash is a little shit, Caboose is adorable, and Tucker isn't amused.

(Originally written June 23rd 2014)

* * *

"Shit, shit, get it away from me!" Cried a shrill voice.

Wash looked up from where he was reclining against the tank, taking a break from doing maintenance. Tucker was running faster than Wash had ever seen him run, even when Wash had threatened to shoot him in the knees. Caboose was tailing along behind him, hands cupped with a seemingly conscious effort not to jostle what he was carrying.

He knew what Caboose was carrying though, the private having told him about the insect he had found earlier that day. Tucker was still running, doing some sort of zigzagging maneuver, nearly tripping on a rock in the process.

Wash snicked, raising his voice so he could be heard. "Tucker! You're in high-tech body armor. A bee isn't going to kill you!"

Tucker nearly tripped again, side steeping a pile of loose cables. "I'm allergic, asshole!"

"Again, you're wearing armor!"

"Just get Caboose to fuck off!"

Caboose didn't seem to like that very much. "But, Tucker, she's lost! How is she going to make honey if she's lost!"

"That isn't a honeybee, moron! That's a hornet!"

"That's racist."

"Racist? That doesn't even make sense!"

"Doesn't make it right."

"Caboose! Seriously, fuck off!"

Tucker didn't seem to notice Caboose had stopped chasing him, the private carefully peering into the cupped dome of his hands to check on his passenger. Tucker turned his head, likely to gauge how far away his pursuer was. He didn't notice Wash's toolbox until his foot connected, his hands not coming up in time to brace his fall, his face taking the brunt of the impact.

Wash walked up to him, toeing at his side when all the other did was grumble into the dirt. "Well, at least you were wearing your helmet."

Caboose came walking up to Wash, his hands still cupped protectively over the hornet. "I don't think Tucker wanted to help, Wash."

"Seems that way, buddy. Sorry about that, could have sworn he did. You can let it go over by those flowers near the bushes."

"You mean the ones that sort of look like an angry cat?"

"Yeah, those are the ones."

"Okay, thanks Wash! Tucker, stop napping, it's not nap time yet."

Tucker groaned when Wash's foot tapped him again, huffing out a wheezing breath. "You're the worst kind of person. You planned that, didn't you?"

Wash gave a noncommittal shrug, one Tucker missed since he was still sprawled on the ground. "Not every part. You falling on your face was all on you. You were the one that didn't want to train."

Tucker sits up, the tilt of his helmet suggesting that he was looking at Wash with a bewildered expression. "So you had Caboose chase me with a fucking hornet!?"

Wash shrugs again, this time one that Tucker can see. "Caboose found the hornet, I just found a use for it. Besides, I didn't know you'd freak out that badly. I actually expected you to end up sparring with Caboose, but running worked to."

"Sparring? With _Caboose_? If he punched me I'd end up with my rib cage in my throat. You actually thought any of this was a good idea?"

"Hey, you're just lucky I didn't do what my old squad did."

"I'm almost too afraid to ask. But I'll bite, what the fuck did they do?"

Wash's voice was casual as he went about picking up his scattered tools. "They threw live grenades at me."

Tucker groaned, getting to his feet. "I almost prefer that."

There was a smirk in Wash's voice. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Oh no, _fuck_ no. I'd rather do fucking squats than deal with that bullshit."

Wash placed his toolbox under his arm, walking back towards the base, an excited Caboose bounding past him.

There was a smile in Wash's voice. "Good, glad you've decided to train again. I'll see you tomorrow at o-six-hundred."

Tucker smiled smugly, fist pumping the air. "Ha!"

It took a minute to fully register what Wash had said, whispering a _'shit'_ before stalking after the other soldier. "Wash, you fucker!"

Tucker was sure the Reds could hear Wash laughing.


	7. In Another Universe (Carolina)

Summary: What would happen if The Director channeled his loss of Allison in another way?

(Originally written June 30th 2014).

* * *

In another universe, maybe instead of looking at his memories of Allison has his _only_ connection to her, The Director would have seen that he had a little piece of Allison still around, still with him.

Maybe he would have placed that feeling of guilt of not protecting Allison into an intense over-protectiveness of Carolina.

Maybe she would have been constantly reminded that she was the daughter of an amazing solider (Lieutenant, Sargent, Captain?) and of an incredibly intelligent man in charge of his own branch of the military.

Maybe she was tired of everyone assuming she got everything handed to her, that her talent wasn't _her_ talent, but genetics and family affiliations.

Maybe she wouldn't have joined Project Freelancer, or maybe she still would have, sneaking in and hiding amongst the ranks under a new identity.

Maybe this would have channeled itself into a new sort of obsession for her, an obsession to not be seen as her mother's daughter, but instead as Carolina, as a person that was more than just a reminder of what was lost, more than just a memory, _more than a shadow._

Maybe Project Freelancer wouldn't have been focused on AI, maybe it would have. Maybe all the atrocities The Director committed wouldn't have happened, maybe they would have. Maybe Carolina could have been with York, or maybe fate was still cruel. Maybe her friends would still be alive, or maybe war would have taken them anyway.

In another universe, maybe her mother was still alive.

In another universe, maybe her father loved her.

In another universe, maybe.


	8. Haven't you heard, soldier? (Dr Grey)

Summary: _"The only people that aren't wearing armor these days are dead."_

(Originally written July 8th 2014)

* * *

The doctor was never seen without her armor and no one knew a thing about her other than she was a doctor (with a medical license, presumably), female identifying, potentially a mad scientist, and went by Emily Gray.

No one asks about her past and no one questions why she never takes off her armor around them because, as she said, "The only people that aren't wearing armor these days are dead."

What they'll never know is that Emily Gray wasn't always Emily Gray.

She used to be Emily Jensen.

She used to be a sister.

She used to be a twin.

Emily had Katie, the younger by two minutes sister that had a heart too sweet for something as cold and calculating as war.

But the war didn't care, it swooped in and blew the sisters apart. Literally.

Neither were wearing armor, the both of them not part of any army on Chorus, and Emily could have screamed at their foolishness. She tried to find Katie, searched under ruble and rebar and bodies and blood. She searched until she feared the blood on her hands was her sister's and the body parts were mirror images of her own.

She retched, bile rising in her throat, still too new to medicine to be able to stomach the viscera and the sinew that was likely all that was left of her sister but still she searched on. She ignored the blood dripping from her brow and stinging her eyes, ignored the way her knees felt like they were being stabbed and the way her arms ached and burned as she lifted away debris, unsure if this was even the right spot, fear latching onto her mind as she thought _'you're wasting time, this isn't the right building, you're disoriented, you likely have a concussion, you don't know up from down, you don't know where she is, you can't find Katie, she's gone, she's gone, she died, she's gone, you can't save her, she's gone!'_

The Federal Army found Emily later, after they had chased the Rebels away, sitting amongst bodies trying to find her sister, shoving the dead from her with each negative match. Eventually she stopped, looking up when a solider made their way over to her, asking if there were anymore surviving civilians.

Emily knew her voice was too chipper for the moment, her smile too wide and her laugh to manic, but grief did strange things to the newly broken, "Haven't you heard, soldier? Every civilian on Chorus is dead."


	9. For Connie (Texas)

Summary: _'She's not a teammate. She's a traitor.'_

(Originally written July 13th 2014)

* * *

If Texas were capable of crying, she probably would be.

_'Your friend, Connie.'_

Tex had been a fool, a total fool. She was being the good solider, following orders, playing the game, but she was being played. She thought she knew everything, where she stood and where everyone else did, thought she knew where the line was and which side of it she was on. She thought that if they weren't on her side the they had to be taken down. Period.

And then there was Connie.

_'She's not a teammate. She's a traitor.'_

That had been it. That was her thoughts on C.T, on Connie, the minute she thought she was betraying her, betraying them. Tex was confident on where she stood, on what she thought she knew. But even Carolina saw more into it than she did.

_'I don't know what's gotten into you Texas, but you'd better figure out the difference between your enemies, and your friends.'_

But Texas didn't know, she didn't know and that cost her, it cost her more than she even knew.

_'I leave this copy for you not because you are the best soldier in the squad, but because I know that I can trust you the most.'_

_Trust._ Trust was important. Connie trusted Texas, and all that got her was tomahawk in her gut and one less person to count on, for how ever long she suffered until the end.

_'Good luck.'_

Connie trusted her with so much, with information she literally gave her life for, and she gave it to the woman she thought she could trust, the woman that killed her without a thought, just to the finish the mission.

_'Your friend, Connie.'_

Oh, but she would get the mission done, everything that Connie tried to accomplish and Tex cut down, she'd get it done, she'd right the wrongs she inflicted, even if it meant tearing down everything she thought she knew. She'd do this.

For Connie.


	10. The Kissing Game (Docington)

Summary: Doc knows that the remedy for worrying is kisses.

(Doc/Wash)

(Originally written July 13th 2014)

* * *

"But what if-"

"It's fine."

"Or-"

"Stop worrying."

"But I can't just-"

"Shush."

"But-"

Doc could practically see the gears turning in Wash's head, could actually see the way his eyebrows met to crease in the middle and the way his bottom lip jutted out in a small pout. Wash opened his mouth again, likely with another worry on the tip of his tongue, so Doc leaned forward, capturing his lips and kissing him gently, then again when he pulled away and he tried to speak again.

They stayed like that for a while, both of them on the couch and the show Doc had been watching forgotten in the background. Whenever Wash tried to utter another worry Doc would swoop in, smothering the words with well placed kisses and gentle nips of his teeth.

Doc knew that by this point in their making out that Wash was playing a game with him, opening his lips with a slight smirk only to have Doc peck him on the lips. Doc knew that now they were just playing, Wash's worries slipping to the back of his mind. That was what Doc had been hoping for, that Wash would relax and calm down for a while...well, calm down his mind, at least. His hands were starting to travel, starting to play with the hem of his shirt and tease the tanned skin there. Doc didn't mind, simply slipped his tongue into Wash's mouth, licking across his teeth and teasing just as much.

Eventually they slowed, their kissing game ending with a final peck to Wash's lips. Wash sighed, leaning back against the couch as Doc smiled, happy he could keep Wash's worries at bay, at least for a little while.

A little while that wasn't going to last very long, apparently.

"But are you _sure_, they're going to be okay."

Doc sighed, exasperated and fond all rolled up into one. "Yes, Wash, I'm sure Ari and Skyler are doing just fine. We handpicked the vet together, remember?"

"But what if-"

"Nothing is going to go wrong, I promise," Doc emphasized his point with a kiss to the freckles on Wash's nose, "spaying is a standard procedure and will be good for the overall well being of the girls, trust me, you're doing the right thing."

Wash looked hopeful, questioning quietly, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, come over here and cuddle with me before Scrubs goes off."


	11. Donut Has a Way with Words (Sargnut)

...and Sarge Really Doesn't

Summary: _"I'll miss him like... well, like someone I knew but that I don't really wanna reflect on how deep our relationship went."_

(Sarge/Donut)

(Originally written July 13th 2014)

* * *

Sarge had no problems speaking. Some would call him a blow-hard, Sarge would yell at then to get back to work while muttering to himself that he was just a well-spoken man.

That all came to a screeching halt when Donut first came to the canyon.

That's not to say that Sarge was always a tongue-tied, bumbling idiot around the boy, no. Sarge was a professional, he could bark out orders with the best of them, but outside of war-scorched battle scenarios, Sarge found communicating with Donut...difficult.

Much to Sarge's chagrin, Donut didn't seem to have such difficulties.

Whenever it was just Sarge and Donut, which seemed to be happening with frustrating frequency, Sarge's tongue seemed to dry up and stick to the roof of his mouth, feeling like he was spitting sawdust whenever he tried to speak.

But Donut seemed to be oblivious to the older man's plight, taking Sarge's grunts and forced one to two word replies as stimulating conversation, continuing to happily chat while Sarge continued to kick himself for behaving like a child hiding behind his mother's skirts, unable to speak for choking on shyness.

_Shy?_ Him? He would have shown you shy while his boot got familiar with your colon, but that was the only way Sarge could describe this bizarre phenomenon that seemed to be happening to him around the young private. Sarge was an honest man, always spoke his mind (though always keeping important information where it should be, with the Reds! And, more importantly, within the chain of command where the most information was at the top). Sarge believed that if you couldn't be honest with anyone else, then you have to at least have to be honest with yourself because everyone else should be treated with at least a little suspicion.

And, since he was being honest, Donut made Sarge feel like an awkward, no-sense teenager again.

And, just like most teenagers when they didn't want to face difficult or confusing feelings, he ignored it in the hopes that it would go away.

But then there was Donut again, same old Donut, who just kept giving him wide, dimpled grins and happy chatter. Donut, who didn't mind Sarge's gruff exterior and cutting remarks, who kept Sarge company with enthusiasm and vigor. Donut, who spoke until it became like a blanket of noise, comfortable and familiar.

Eventually, speaking with Donut became easier. He'd still get flustered at Donut's frequent use of double entendres, would still grumble to cover up how much the boy's words got to him, but he was working on it, working on talking more with Donut, and, if he wasn't becoming a crazy old man, he thought Donut noticed.

Whenever Sarge would contribute to one of Donut's usually one-sided conversations with an opinion here, a well-timed quip or accidental slip of the tongue there, Donut would tilt his helmeted head a certain way or, if Sarge was lucky and the private wasn't wearing his helmet, he would smile in a slightly different way, not his megawatt smile, but a smaller, sweeter one that would linger for a while before he picked up on a different line of thought and happily let whatever was on his mind flow out.

Sarge knew he should bring up his feelings eventually, what with the way war was and regrets always on the horizon, but he just couldn't, not yet, a lifetime's supply denial and repressed feelings weighing him down.

But maybe he wouldn't have to because even if no one else could parse out what was underneath Sarge's harshness, at least Donut was willing to try and, maybe, Donut would be able to figure out what Sarge couldn't say.

After all, Donut always had a way with words.


	12. The Problem With Colors (Wash)

Summary: _Ever since joining Project Freelancer, colors have taken on new meaning._

(Originally written August 9th 2014)

* * *

Ever since joining Project Freelancer, colors have taken on new meaning.

In the desert, everything was a gold-tan, nothing much stood out, except for Doc. Wash would sometimes catch himself drifting, his eyes having gone hazy from having looked at the same scenery for so long, so when he sees Doc in his peripheral, he slips, feels the weight of the name "North" on his tongue, and has to bite down on it so hard he draws blood. Doc would hear the strangled noise, ask if Wash was okay, and Wash would snap at him to be quiet, not wanting to hear that, not wanting to hear something so completely and utterly like _North_.

Sometimes he slips up, the past and present becoming a smeared blur of colors, and he finds his heart speeding up when he sees familiar purple, feels his lips move on their own accord, and has to walk away, angry at himself, when the voice that answers him is not the one he was expecting, has to ignore what feels like a punch to the gut when Doc asks, "Who's North?"


	13. Biggest Fucking Douchebag Assholes

...in the Galaxy

Summary: _These assholes have "died" so many times it's ridiculous._

(Originally written August 12th 2014)

* * *

These assholes have "died" so many times it's ridiculous. They know what they're doing, they have plans, and back up plans, and back up plans for the back up plans. They know that things do go wrong, but they'll get as much as they can (money, intelligence, tech, etc.) before everything goes to shit.

Felix has almost lost track of how many aliases he's had. Maybe he'll be Garfield this time, no, Tom. He probably wouldn't recognize his birth name if someone screamed it. Felix has no problems shedding an old identity. He loves the thrill of becoming a new person, of fooling idealistic saps with his "heart of gold".

Locus isn't quite so eager, only because he _hates_ when one of his carefully constructed plans falls apart. That, and he hates having to get new armor, already used to the preciseness of his body movements in that particular set. He'll fume quietly until Felix is sick of his silent bitching and throws him a new set of armor (better than the last set, he assures) and Locus efficiently strips and gets into the new set because as much as he hates it, he's a professional. His body is a weapon and he will become his armor, just like he always does.

These two are _cockroaches_. They have been shot, stabbed, blown up, ran over, and once had a nuc fired at them _but they always survive_. Sure, they get hurt, sometimes nearly die, maybe lose a limb (Locus has an artificial leg, Felix forever complains that he wishes Locus had lost his arm instead so he could make "need a hand" jokes. Locus steps on Felix's bare foot with his metal one.)

They always make sure to have scapegoats, bodies in their armor that get "shot down" while they were making their escape in a shuttle, getting destroyed in a ball of fire so intense that all that remains is the chard remnants of "their" bodies, before the actual mercenaries leave the planet, going to set up on some other forgotten world, ready to start the process again as the "biggest fucking douchebag assholes in the galaxy."


End file.
